


dying to see how this one ends

by reachthetree



Category: Halsey (Musician), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol, Blank Space AU, Canon Compliant, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4667663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reachthetree/pseuds/reachthetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.” </p><p>Of course Ashley’s heard the song, every time biting back a smile at Taylor’s cheeky intonation of ‘good for a weekend’. She’s got no doubt that it’s true, too – the song may be a parody of the media image of Swift, but the fact remains that Taylor is very powerful.</p><p>She just doesn’t know if she’s powerful enough that the line applies to bad girls as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dying to see how this one ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therjolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therjolras/gifts).



> I've wanted to write something ridiculous based on that line in Blank space for a while, and then I found this ship, and it just seemed right. Not betaed because I truly didn't know who to ask so I'm sorry about eventual mistakes. I hope there aren't too many and that someone has fun with this, because I did.
> 
> For ao3 user therjolras because you opened my eyes to this ship and I'm in love with it. Thank you.

“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.” 

Of course Ashley’s heard the song, every time biting back a smile at Taylor’s cheeky intonation of ‘good for a weekend’. She’s got no doubt that it’s true, too – the song may be a parody of the media image of Swift, but the fact remains that Taylor is very powerful.

She just doesn’t know if she’s powerful enough that the line applies to bad girls as well.

-

It starts when Taylor follows her back on Twitter. Ashley is cool, all right, and it’s in a very cool way that her heart jumps when she sees it. She’s in New York, doing some interviews and a gig, and she’s all but posted a tweet about her location before Taylor DM’s her.

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on you,’ it reads. ‘You’re good.’

Ashley makes a face, too stunned to make a sound. She’s in a heavily airconditioned hotel room, so she can’t tell if her hairs were already standing and she just didn’t notice until now. She licks her lips, then chews on the bottom one as she types out a reply.

‘Thank you, miss Swift. Had my eye on you for a while, actually. You’re really good.’

When she’s sent it she turns the volume up on the tv, foolishly hoping that the noise will drown out her fast-beating heart. It’s not a minute before her phone plings with a reply.

It’s a monkey covering its eyes emoji, followed by ‘Please call me Taylor’.

It’s the adrenaline more than Ashley herself that replies ‘Okay, Taytay’ with a winking tongue-out emoji.

There’s no response to that and well, what did she expect?

-

A few months later she’s back in New York, and it’s autumn now, Central Park ablaze in colour and every other person on the street holding a foaming Starbucks cup. She tweets a picture of the park, not thinking much of it. But after soundcheck, when she’s mostly just waiting, she checks her phone.

There’s a direct message from Taylor.

Ashley almost swallows the beer wrong, coughing a little when she’s managed to get it down. Her tour manager turns his head from talking to the drummer, and quirks an eyebrow at her.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks out. He looks amused, but turns back to the conversation.

The message reads: ‘Welcome to New York (star emoji)’

That’s it.

The beer’s a bit warm and tastes bland, but Ashley drinks the rest like it’s Pepsi and it’s already the day after. Then she takes a deep breath, glances at the time – she’s got twenty minutes – and decides life is too short not to flirt with Taylor Swift.

‘Thanks, Taytay. Great song, that. You know, I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet you? Or am I not famous enough yet?’ She signs it off with a winking emoji. There’s a time and place for subtle wooing, and that time was before emoticons.

Fifteen minutes later she’s not feeling as brave. There’s been no word from Taylor and she’s obsessively reapplying lipstick, her lips tacky with the thickness of it, and singing Ghost to warm up. She tries to push Taylor from her mind, think about the stage, the people waiting, and doing what she’s meant to do. It sort of works; by the time she steps out, her smile is genuine and she feels like she could fight a dragon.

When she sings, nothing exists except the stage, the crowd, and her. She smears her lipstick on the mic, licks the cord, bends over, sings like nothing else matters because it doesn’t. The crowd cheers and sings along and her skin feels alight, buzzing with power, charged with the intense emotions in the room.

She gets off stage and hugs the band, high-fives her tour manager, and prioritises beer over taking a shower. This one’s cold and she can barely stop smiling for long enough to purse her lips around the bottle. The band clink bottles and cheer for a show well done, but they only get to have the one before they’re ushered out.

“Time to take the party elsewhere,” the tour manager says in an effort to sound stern.

Ashley laughs and punches his bicep. “All right, bossy.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, but she’s already on her way.

It’s only in the car that she checks her phone again. Not that she cares about Taylor – she just wants to check Twitter for fan reactions, is all.

There is, however, a message from Taylor there. Ashley licks her lips, still tasting a vague hint of chemicals form the lipstick, and opens it.

‘If you’re on for something crazy, we can make that happen tonight. Clear the next two days and bring your passport.’ There’s also an address.

The city lights are bright outside the window but Ashley’s eyes are probably brighter. Bring your passport. Yeah, this is exactly the kind of mistake she loves making.

“Excuse me, driver,” she says. “There’s been a change of plans.”

The driver types in the new address very calmly, and Ashley feels like punching through the window. Who asks someone they never met to clear two days for them? Taylor Swift, apparently. Luckily, Ashley’s got the next few days off, although she did have plans to meet up with friends. She spends the ride to the mysterious address texting her band, her tour manager, and various friends, saying not to worry if she’s AWOL for two days. She doesn’t disclose more than that and gets a few exasperated responses, but she doesn’t have time to focus on that.

‘I don’t know how long it takes but I’m on my way. Got the passport and everything.’

Taylor’s reply is instant. ‘My security will escort you from there :)’

The smiley makes the absurd message seem bizarrely normal, like they’re old friends meeting up for lunch. Ashley never came down from her concert high, and this is taking her even higher. She can’t stop fucking smiling.

Taylor’s security is four(!) men who take Ashley to another car, black and luxurious-looking. They block the inside of it from view completely as one of them open the door for her and she climbs in.

And then she’s in the back of a limo with Taylor Swift.

“Hi.” Taylor is wearing a smile similar to Ashley’s; delighted disbelief. “Nice to meet you, I’m Taylor.” And she reaches out her hand to shake Ashley’s just when the car starts moving.

In hindsight, Ashley wishes she’d thought to wipe the sweat from her palms first, but their first handshake is a contrast between Taylor’s cool, perfectly moisturized, hand with manicured nails, and Ashley’s sweaty hand with worn black nailpolish.

“Nice to meet you,” Ashley echoes, and then she laughs, the nerves and surrealism of the situation spilling out.

Taylor joins in, and shakes her head with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she says. “Who agrees to this?”

She doesn’t sound displeased, but Ashley gets defensive anyway. “To be fair, who asks something like this?”

She raises her eyebrows at Taylor and their eyes lock for a second before Taylor starts laughing again. “We’re both crazy,” she concludes. “Champagne?”

Of course there’s champagne. “I’d love some,” Ashley says honestly. “I’m still buzzing from my gig.”

“Oh yeah, you had a gig!” Taylor pours champagne into champagne flutes, but she’s not looking at them – she’s looking at Ashley. “How did it go?”

“It was amazing,” Ashley says and accepts the glass.

“Cheers to that, then.” Taylor grins and lifts her glass. Ashley clinks it, and she can’t help it, but the laughter comes spilling out.

“Hey,” she pants when it starts to ebb out. “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”

-

Here’s what Ashley knows about Taylor’s secret island: it takes about two bottles of wine between the two of them to fly there, and it’s hot. At the level of fame Taylor has she can’t take any chances. (Ashley doesn’t point out that she could turn on her phone and use the maps to find out where she is. She’s hoping she won’t need to.)

Later she’ll also know that there’s super smooth sand, and that the water looks so blue she needs a minute to scribble down something that might become lyrics later, and that Taylor likes swimming naked in the ocean.

The house Taylor’s got there is a fucking mansion. The kitchen is as big as Ashley’s apartment in LA, which she personally thinks is really nice.

“How often do you come here?” She asks Taylor while running a finger over the stone surface of the counter. How did she even get that out here?

Taylor shrugs. “As often as I can, to be honest. I love New York but it’s always a show when I’m there, you know? Like, even if I’m not working, I gotta do a full makeup to walk out of the gym because there’ll be paps.”

Ashley hasn’t thought of that. “Sounds annoying,” she says and tries to stifle a yawn.

“I love my job,” Taylor says and sighs. “But I also love a vacation.”

She hasn’t brought any bags, Ashley notices. Ashley’s got her backpack, which contains a phone charger, a pair of underwear, a squished pack of cigarettes, and a notebook. The passport is there, too, but no one actually checked it when they boarded Taylor’s private jet. Maybe that was just a hint. A figure of speech.

Ashley nods slowly. “I get it, I think,” she says, and yawns again.

Taylor giggles. “Sorry, are you tired? Let’s get you to a room, come on.”

In a daze, Ashley follows Taylor to a room with a giant bed and a window to the ocean, which reflects the moon on its rippled surface. The bed is made and Ashley throws herself on it without hesitation.

“I’ll be a more entertaining guest in the morning,” she mumbles into the pillow (which has a higher threadcount than she can remember ever having experienced before). It might already be morning, technically speaking, but Ashley doesn’t know what timezone they’re in and it’s dark outside still.

Taylor just giggles again. “Goodnight, Ashley,” she says before she closes the door.

It takes Ashley several seconds to react to the strangeness in being referred to by her birthname, but Taylor’s already gone.

-

Ashley blinks against the sun, eyes heavy with yesterday’s makeup and wine. She’s not hungover, exactly, but she’s not feeling super fresh either. She looks around and freezes. Where the fuck is she? She stumbles onto her feet and groans – she’s been wearing a bra all night and her ribs are not happy about this. A look out the window at the ocean makes her memory come crashing back: she’s in Taylor Swift’s house on a secret island.

Wow. Ashley shakes her head and undoes her bra under her shirt, sighing with relief once she gets it off. She didn’t bring any clothes, but brushing her teeth would be nice.

There’s a door in the room she didn’t notice before she fell asleep, and after a tentative knock on it (in case it leads to Taylor’s room or something), she opens it.

It’s a bathroom. Of course Taylor Swift has an ensuite in her guest room. Ashley scurries in, and after a quick wee, starts looking for toothpaste. To her surprise, she finds a toothbrush too, covered in plastic like in a hotel. She wonders if Taylor gets many guests here.

“There you are!” Taylor beams at her from a gigantic table in the living room when she comes downstairs. “There’s food, help yourself.”

“Morning,” Ashley rasps. “Thank you.”

The table is set with lots of fruit and scrambled eggs. Ashley helps herself to plenty of both and sits down where Taylor had put out a plate for her, right next to herself.

“Do you bring people here a lot?” Ashley asks between bites. The eggs are amazing; she wonders if Taylor cooked them herself or if there’s a cook hiding somewhere in this huge house.

“Wow.” Taylor laughs. “You just ask what you want to know, don’t you?”

Ashley shrugs. “Pretty much.” Taylor doesn’t speak for a couple seconds, so she adds, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Taylor’s eyes widen and her lips quirk up, mouth slightly open in a baffled half-smile. “You don’t know what a relief it is to hear someone say that,” she says, and sounds so grateful it makes Ashley a little nervous. Is this what fame does to people?

“No problem,” is all she says. She eats some more, the silence almost tangible, but Taylor doesn’t speak. Ashley clears her throat. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

Taylor leans forward and rests her chin on her hands. “I want to know what happened in your life that made you say yes to my offer,” she says, and Ashley almost chokes on a strawberry.

“A lot of people would say yes to that offer when made by Taylor Swift,” she tries, but Taylor wrinkles her nose.

“That’s not why, is it? That’s not the vibe I got from you at all.” She looks disappointed, and no, no, absolutely not.

“No,” she says. She impales a bit of melon with her fork and pops it into her mouth, giving her a bit of time to think. Taylor waits. “I said yes,” she begins, “because I love making bad decisions. It was crazy of me to do it, but I am crazy, so.” She shrugs. “That’s it, I guess.”

Taylor seems to ponder this for a moment before she nods. “All right,” she says. “What do you mean when you say you’re crazy, though?”

Ashley looks her in the eye when she responds. “I’m bipolar,” she says. 

She watches Taylor closely, like she always does when she tells people this, watches for hints that they can’t handle it. Taylor blinks slowly, then nods and says, “all right.”

“Really?” Ashley raises her eyebrows.

Taylor nods again. “I just wanted to know why you would say that,” she says. “Now I know.”

And, well. That’s a better response than many others have given Ashley. She smiles at Taylor.

“Good.”

-

Taylor lends Ashley a bikini. It’s just this side of too small, but it works. As long as she doesn’t jump or spread her legs too far. The sand is hot and silky against her skin, and Taylor grins at her.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” She looks so pretty without makeup, Ashley thinks.

She nods. “Amazing.”

Taylor closes her eyes and turns her face to the sun, lying down next to Ashley on the beach. Ashley’s itching to go swim, or write, or sing, do something; she’s never been good at sitting still long enough to sunbathe. She glances over at Taylor, who’s in a tiny polka dot bikini and whose legs seem to go on forever, like a pier maybe, all smooth skin and gentle lines.

Ashley clears her throat, and Taylor opens one squinty eye to look up at her. “We still barely know each other,” Ashley says.

“True.” Taylor’s raised eyebrows look amused. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I don’t know.” Ashley kicks up some sand, watches it shimmer in the air. “Tell me something you want me to know. Something real.” She notices Taylor’s lips pressing together and adds, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“You already signed an NDA,” Taylor reminds her, and right. That had happened somewhere between the bottles of wine on the flight. “I was just considering.”

Ashley feels a bit stupid, and keeps quiet, wishing she had her cigarettes. She closes her eyes and pretends she’s alone with the sun. It doesn’t work; she can smell Taylor’s sunscreen, a smell of summer and skin.

“All right,” Taylor says finally, but there’s no finality in her voice, the words linger. Ashley opens her eyes and watches Taylor sigh. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the rumours about me being gay for Karlie?”

It’s not only the sun that makes Ashley blush. She may or may not have fantasized about Taylor and her model friend on a few occasions. Or a lot. “May have,” she says warily. Lying has never been her strong suit anyway.

“Well, they’re not true,” Taylor says. Ashley really doesn’t know how to react. “I’m gay, all right, but not with Karlie.”

Oh. All right. A few lazy waves stroke the beach and Ashley doesn’t know what to say. “Okay,” is what she lands on. “That’s… Good to know.”

“You can’t afford being sued by me,” Taylor remarks, her voice sharp.

“I didn’t mean ‘rat you out to the papers’ good, oh my God,” Ashley says.

Taylor visibly relaxes. “I can’t be too careful,” she says as means of explanation, and well. Ashley gets it. She thinks she does, at least – she and Taylor are very different artists, and Taylor’s fame is… American sweetheart, and all that.

“Thanks for telling me,” Ashley says softly. “I’d offer you the same kind of information, but I’m very out already, so you probably know.”

At this, Taylor chuckles. “One of the reasons I invited you here,” she says.

Whatever that means.

Ashley decides not to overthink it, and gets up, brushes the sand from her body where she can reach. “I wanna swim,” she says. “Coming?” 

She flashes Taylor a smile, and then she starts running to the sea.

-

Ashley doesn’t know what time it is, but it feels like afternoon when she splashes around in the water with Taylor, and it feels the same when they dry up on the beach and compare music tastes (they both love Nicki Minaj, and Ashley gets agitated when Taylor confesses to not knowing who The Maine are). And when they go inside to make dinner, it feels like night.

“Are you okay with wearing pyjamas?” Taylor asks very seriously with her hands on her hips, and Ashley wants to laugh out loud.

Instead, she nods. “Always,” she says.

So Taylor fetches her a pyjamas that lays on her bed when she gets out of the shower. Nice service at the Taylor Swift Resort, she thinks to herself. The pyjamas is thin cotton, soft from being worn, and a pastel pink. Ashley puts it on and feels relieved that she’s finally free from her makeup.

She feels clean and new.

When she gets downstairs, Taylor is in the kitchen, looking for something in a cabinet. “I could have sworn I had sunflower seeds here,” she mumbles.

“What are we making?” Ashley jumps up to sit on the counter without second thought.

Taylor looks surprised. “I’m making a salad,” she says. “You wanna help?”

Ashley shrugs. “I could.”

So she gets to dice an avocado while Taylor boils lentils, and in the end, the salad is delicious even without sunflower seeds.

“So,” Taylor says when they’re done eating. “How about some wine and a cheesy movie?” She blinks cutely and Ashley couldn’t have said no if she wanted to.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Taylor smiles. “Come on, then.” She stands up and motions for Ashley to follow, which she does, up the stairs and to a door.

“This is where the magic happens,” Taylor jokes before she opens the door. Ashley has rolled her eyes at guys saying that several times, but coming from Taylor it’s just… Cute. Cute, and Ashley finds herself giggling.

And then the door swings open.

Taylor’s got a giant bed, a giant tv at the opposite wall, and this is her vacation house. Rich people. But she’s also got a stuffed animal on the bed, and a cactus in the window, and it’s surprisingly homely.

“I like it,” Ashley offers.

Taylor gestures to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll get the wine.”

Ashley scoots up against the headboard and looks around again. She’s never given any thought to a Taylor Swift bedroom, but somehow she was expecting something else. More cats, maybe.

She definitely didn’t think Taylor would have a wine cupboard in her bedroom. “I’m not a drunk,” she says when she sees Ashley’s face. “Just a lazy old lady.”

Ashley laughs. “No judgment here,” she says, and takes the plastic Disneyland cup Taylor hands her.

Taylor smiles softly. “Didn’t think you would.” The heat on Ashley’s face could be explained by the sun, she thinks. She watches the red liquid Taylor’s pouring into the cup.

Since Ashley’s already sitting, it’s up to Taylor how close she’s going to get. Ashley doesn’t realise she’s holding her breath until Taylor settles down a few inches from her and she exhales in relief. There’s still a scent of sun about her, barely detectable through the rich smell of the wine.

“You ready?” Taylor asks with her hand on the remote.

Ashley nods. “Ready.” She takes a sip of wine and Taylor clicks play.

The movie is… Not memorable. Taylor keeps commenting, on clothes and cheesy lines, and Ashley giggles and watches Taylor’s mouth move. When she’s silent, Ashley notices the sounds of her swallowing weirdly clearly. She’s still high on the improbablility of this entire situation, her nerves on edge even as she starts to feel a buzz from the wine.

When they’re about half way through it, Taylor pauses. The wine bottle is empty, and Taylor looks at it once before looking at Ashley.

“I have an idea,” she says. “Let’s go skinny dipping under the stars.”

Ashley knows the heat in her stomach, knows what it means. She shouldn’t say yes. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” she says.

-

Taylor brings a bottle of wine and burrows it into the sand before taking off her pyjamas. Ashley looks the other way, painfully aware of the rustling sounds from the fabric no longer covering Taylor’s body. But with her back to Taylor she does the same. The wind is cool on her exposed skin, and it makes her feel hotter. And the silence is too heavy to bear.

“I’ll race you,” Ashley gets out, and then she runs to the ocean for the second time that day.

The water is colder than she imagined and she yelps when it splashes up against her, but she keeps going until it’s deep enough to swim, then she turns around and floats on her back, trying to ignore how her boobs float up above the surface.

Taylor’s right behind her. “No fair,” she says, “I wasn’t ready.”

“Life isn’t fair, Taytay,” Ashley responds. She feels breathless. Taylor just smiles.

The stars are truly magnificent out here, no light pollution dimming their shine. Ashley’s pretty sure she can see the milky way, and it makes her feel very small.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she says, the silence growing too thick for her again. Maybe that’s something for her to work on: being silent sometimes.

“You look like a mermaid with that hair floating around,” Taylor responds. She reaches a hand out to touch Ashley’s hair, which she normally hates. But now she stills, and Taylor combs through the floating strands until her fingers are massaging Ashley’s scalp.

She doesn’t realise she’s let out a moan until it’s already too late.

Taylor freezes, but she doesn’t remove her hand. “Shit, sorry,” Ashley spits out, “my scalp is like… It’s a thing.” She suddenly feels like the water can’t hold her up, and starts trampling with her legs, water pumping around her body.

“That’s okay.” Taylor’s voice is low and Ashley suppresses a shudder. Then she starts moving her fingers again, slowly, and it’s so good. Ashley bites her lip.

“You doing that makes me wanna kiss you,” she blurts out.

Taylor’s mouth drops open. A gentle wave nudges them both closer to the shore. Ashley feels her heart beat in her throat.

And then Taylor closes the space between them.

Her lips taste like ocean and skin, salty and smooth, slightly open and warm for Ashley. Her hand finds Taylor’s waist and it’s with an electricity-like shock she remembers that they’re naked and she can’t stop herself from groaning into Taylor’s mouth. Taylor responds by tugging on her hair, and God, this was beyond Ashley’s wildest dreams for this vacation.

They kiss until a wave splashes up and makes them both swallow some water. Ashley starts coughing, and Taylor starts laughing. They giggle as they swim ashore, steal glances at each other in the starlight when their feet reach the sand and they emerge from the water. What now?

Taylor stretches out an open hand. Ashley takes it. She takes it, and lets herself be led past their piles of clothes, into the house, back into Taylor’s bedroom. They’re still naked, somehow she feels even more so in the bright lights. As if she’s read Ashley’s mind, Taylor dims the lights a bit.

“Okay?” Her voice is a bit unsure, and Ashley can’t have that.

“Perfect,” she says, and it’s Ashley who kisses Taylor this time, shamelessly lets her hands wander from Taylor’s waist to her tiny ass. She gives it a gentle squeeze and Taylor sighs contentedly in Ashley’s mouth. It’s all warmth and softness and Ashley wants all of it.

Taylor rests her forehead against Ashley’s and takes a deep breath. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispers.

And then they do.

-

They spend the last twenty-four hours on the island in Taylor’s bed; nipping at skin, fingers searching all over each other, soft hair, mouths everywhere, wet, hot, sweat, giggles, kisses. A few hours of sleep, and then again. Ashley doesn’t get enough of Taylor’s taste and if Taylor’s response is any indication, she feels the same way. They don’t talk much, but they don’t need to: just a few directions, “there, yeah”, “again, please”, “I can go again”, otherwise letting their bodies do the talking and getting lost in each other.

When they touch down on JFK, Taylor gives Ashley a strangely wistful look. “This was fun,” she says, but it sounds like a question.

“It was.” Ashley rubs at her eyes; she’s been asleep for the flight.

There’s a beat of awkward silence. The engines have stopped roaring, and in a minute they’ll be escorted out by Taylor’s security.

Taylor opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it again. Ashley looks away. “Maybe we’ll see each other again some time,” Taylor says. Ashley can’t figure out her tone, and when she looks at her face, Taylor looks different. Harder.

“Maybe.” She tries a smile, but it feels strange.

Taylor’s security drop her off at the hotel she left haphazardly two days ago. She gets a last glimpse of Taylor before the car door closes, but it’s not her Taylor she sees.

It’s going to be a long time before she sees her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please consider this ship and then write fics about it, thanks


End file.
